Mendacium
by Toxic Trash Writes
Summary: Follow the life of Morty Smith: a boy who grew up with a drunk mother, a father who has given up on life, and a sister who is usually out partying to forget her problems. When his birthday comes around, Morty thinks it's just going to be another day... But then he gets a letter. "Help me, Morty. Grandpa Rick's in trouble." Except...Morty had never even heard of a Grandpa Rick.
1. The Brokenness of We

**Mendacium**

 **Fun fact: Mendacium means"Lies" in Latin.**

 ** _Chapter One: The Brokenness of We_**

Here he was.

15 years old.

The middle of his pubescent years.

And here he was. Sitting on his ass. Alone in his room. Doing nothing. Same shit, just another day. Who knew a birthday could be so lame?

Morty Smith was now 15. And nothing changed. The teen was seated at his desk, laptop opened in front of him. On his screen was an essay for World History he was in the process of writing. So far, he only had the first two paragraphs typed up. He hated history.

"I wonder what cake mom and dad got for me," Morty murmured. Then he briefly wondered if they even _got_ him a cake. The thought made him frown. Did they even know it was his birthday? It was possible. His mom didn't really care and his dad was always too busy watching over his mother. Summer certainly hadn't wished him a happy birthday during school. But then that could have just been her wanting to keep up her popular facade at school. What popular girl talked to their annoying sibling during school hours?

Shaking his head, Morty pushed against his desk and allowed his seat to spin round and round. He felt his head ache from dizziness and he clenched his eyes shut. The teen planted his feet on the ground. His vision was fuzzy as he opened his eyes but soon the world became clear again and he caught sight of the family photo his mother had placed in his room. It was of his dad, mom, sister, himself, and his grandma. Morty sighed. The people on the picture looked so happy.

 _Too bad it's all just a lie_ , Morty thought bitterly.

Three years ago, Morty's grandmother, Dianne, had passed away. His mother's drinking had gotten worse after that. Beth then started to get so drunk, Jerry would have to take off from work just to watch after her, making sure she either went to work, or called out sick. And their issues just grew from there. Jerry lost his job. Beth started blaming him for every little thing that happened. She began drunkenly scolding him for not having a job, and whenever she herself went to "work," it was only to sleep with her co-worker, Daven. She would call Summer a mistake whenever the teen told her to stop drinking. She'd tell Morty that she hated him because his face reminded her of her father. Her father that she only rarely ever spoke of. Her father that, Morty was certain, was long dead.

Morty had rarely heard Beth speak of her father before then. It was as if he never existed. No one ever dared asked, "Where's grandpa?"

The teen could feel his eyes welling up and a lump growing in his throat at the thought of his absent grandpa. He was never around (probably dead, Morty assumed) but his wife was. And she had always been so kind. She coddled her grandkids and gave them all the love they could ever ask for. He remembered the way she would always smile when looking out the window, as if seeing the ghost of an old flame or friend. He briefly wondered if the person she thought about while looking outside was the same person his own mother hated to the point where she couldn't even speak their name.

A hand rapped on his door. "Morty. Dinner." It was Summer. Morty choked down the lump in his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"B-be right there."

Getting up from his chair, he heard his sister walk past his room and _pit pat_ down the steps. Her footsteps were soft and quiet, as though she were walking on air. How does she make such soft steps?

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time for wondering about his sister's feet. He quickly checked himself in the mirror he had hanging on his door. He had the usual on today: tight, blue jeans and one of his many yellow shirts. Today, however, his yellow shirt was a collared button down in celebration of his birthday.

He smiled wryly back at himself.

His parents didn't pay enough attention to even notice that he wears the same color shirt every day, let alone tell if it's a different style. He sighed, forcing a seemingly real smile on his face.

 _Show time_.

The walk from his room to the dining with that fake smile plastered on his face was...uneventful, to say the least.

His mom started talking to him the second he got down the stairs. Badgering him about school, pretending to care about his health, wondering when he was going to join a sports team.

Schools fine. He's doing ok. He's just not feeling sports this year, either.

Beth was seated at the head of the table, Jerry across from her, head hung down to stare at his empty plate. Summer was to her father's left, typing away on her phone, glancing every so often between her mom and Morty. Beth already had a bottle of wine in her hand when Morty sat down across from his sister, leaving the seats beside his mom empty. He muttered a greeting to everyone at the table and eagerly looked at the food laid out on the table. Tonight was Oven Night: pizza rolls, fries, and for dessert...brownies.

Morty made a face. It wasn't cake but it was definitely something.

But the fact still stood that no one had acknowledged his birthday.

He only realized just then how angry that made him.

He knew they didn't care.

He knew they didn't notice him.

But—

 _But—_

But Morty couldn't stop his hand from forming into a fist.

He couldn't stop himself from rising from his seat.

He couldn't stop his fist from slamming on the table.

He couldn't stop the wine glass in front of his dad's plate from falling.

And he couldn't—

He couldn't—

He couldn't stop the words that flew from his mouth as though they had a life of their own.

"I-is anyone going to even tell me ' _happy birthday_ '?!" He could feel his throat burn a bit as he spoke. _Hoarse from holding back tears?_ he wondered.

Now, there were three sets of eyes upon him. No one moved. No one said anything.

Morty could feel himself growing sweaty from nerves. He swallowed. "I-I just..." Suddenly, a chair scrapped against the floor, causing Morty to jump. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as his mother got up, grabbed her wine glass and bottle, and left the room. He bit his lip. If only he had stopped himself from getting angry. He tapped his foot nervously, catching Summer's gaze. She set her phone on the table. "I-I just wanted... It's my b-b-birthday..."

His sister pushed her seat back and stood, walking into the kitchen. Feeling dejected and hurt, Morty looked down at his feet. He could hear his dad give a deep sigh and watched as the man reached towards the pizza rolls and set some on his own plate. It was as if time had slowed and Morty got to watch the last of his dad's will fade away.

Morty had known long ago that his father had given up. He knew. But this—

There was just _no reaction_. It was as if Morty had stopped existing in his eyes.

Without another word, Jerry dig into his food. Morty quietly sat back down and began to eat as well, not caring if he ate his mom and sister's portions. As he bit into his fifth pizza roll, Summer returned and grabbed the plate of brownies, bringing them into the kitchen.

Receiving a new spark of anger, Morty hoped she'd get fat and ugly from eating all of those brownies.

He and Jerry ate in silence until Jerry decided he was full, leaving his plate at the table and, more importantly, Morty alone. The teen shoved a few more pizza rolls into his mouth and chewed a good bit. Maybe he was really the one who was going to get fat and ugly from stress eating...

Tossing a single frie into his mouth, Morty leaned back in his seat, stuffed.

"God, you really ate a lot." His sister's voice startled him so much he nearly threw up his dinner. Spinning around, he saw that she was holding the plate of brownies. But they weren't really brownies anymore. Summer had stacked them atop each other into two layers and had covered the mass with strawberry frosting, her favorite. And his favorite, too. Morty couldn't help but be in awe of his sister. Even though she hadn't remembered, she was still able to make some magic happen. She set it on the table, groaning out, "You better still have room for this, you pig."

And, with those words, the magic was gone.

"Shut up, Summer! I-I only ate that much 'cause you—you and mom left!"

"Fatty." She smirked but then gave him a genuine smile that Morty couldn't help but return. "Alright, Morty. Let's just cut the fuckin' cake or whatever."

"Thanks, Sum. It—it looks great."

The cake had been adequate. Whoever had made the brownies hadn't cooked it long enough and it had been under-cooked and gooey. But adequate.

And adequate is good.

Especially since he hadn't been expecting anything for his birthday.

Morty was once again sat in his room.

His laptop was opened, now showing a gaming site on screen. He had been in the middle of playing _Duty Calls 6_ when he finally got bored and began spinning himself round and round in his chair. He only stopped once he fell out of his chair and onto the floor.

 _Summer is a good sister_ , he thought. She's the only family he had left.

Pushing himself up off the floor, Morty crawled over to his bed. Once there, he shut his eyes and let the quiet sounds of his room soothe him. But then he realized that his room was not quiet because of the damn game he had left pulled up on his laptop ("Time to head to battle, son!"). Groaning, the boy got up and staggered over to his desk, turning the volume down and shutting the electronic closed. The sound successfully gone, he gave a sigh of relief. As he took a step back from his desk, his hand drug against the smooth wood of his desk before hitting an envelope. Pausing his movements, he picked up the envelope and stared at it.

After having the brownie-cake, he had run out to check the mail. And among all of his parents' bills, Jerry's unemployment checks, and Summer's magazines, a crisp white envelope held his name.

The envelope was pristine and undamaged, unlike his sister's magazines, which had gotten squished into the mailbox. The name Mortimer Smith was spelled on it in clear, neat handwriting. There was no sign of who it was from.

Shrugging, Morty flipped the envelope over and ripped the flap open, letting the envelope fall onto the floor. The card inside was blank on the front, just a baby blue color. Flipping it open, Morty's eyes widened.

The words " _Help me. Help me, Morty. Grandpa Rick's in a bit of trouble,_ " were written on the inside with the same handwriting on the envelope.

 **To be continued...**


	2. Letters from a Ghost

**Mendacium, Chapter Two**

 ** _Chapter Two: Letters from a Ghost_**

 **October 23rd.**

This has to be a joke.

Morty sat at on his bed, staring intently at the letter he had received.

That's it, just a cruel joke by some asshole of a schoolmate.

His grandpa was long dead.

He repeated the words 'This is a joke' in his head until he finally removed all doubt from his mind.

And with his mind set, he shredded the letter to pieces and tossed them into his trash can.

 **November 1st.**

" _Help me. Help me, Morty. Grandpa Rick's in a bit of trouble._ "

Again. He received a second one. This time, he took the letter with him to school. He thought he could compare the hand writing from the letter to his classmates.

But his plan didn't seem to be as witty as he first thought it was.

Who was he kidding? He wasn't smart enough to tell if this handwriting matched any of his classmates'. Not to mention that he had eight classes in total, nearly every class having approximately 25 people. Nearly 200 people's writing he would have to check.

And once Morty realized that, he decided that this was too much work.

It was just a stupid prank.

 **November 20th.**

School had sucked today.

Mr. Goldenfold had given the class a pop quiz, the lunch lady got mad at him for bringing his own lunch and replaced it with the school's slop, and then he fell asleep in history, completely missing Jessica's presentation on...on...bees? He couldn't remember.

Morty couldn't wait to get home, masturbate, and then play video games for the night. Damn, he was so glad it was Friday.

But his joy dissipated the second he walked through the door. From the doorway, he could see his dad sitting at the dining table, his head resting in his hands. Leaning forward just a bit, he was able to see his mom standing in the kitchen, face red and eyes puffy. Beside her were three bottles of wine, two tipped over and clearly empty, one placed upright and unopened. And in her hands was a piece of paper. Her hands were clenched, wrinkling the paper. To Morty's horror, he realized it was another one of the prank letters.

"M-Mom!"

The sound of his voice made his mother's eyes snap up to meet his. He felt a shiver run down his back as he shut the door behind him. Her eyes were so cold and angry. Glancing back towards his father, he noticed that Jerry hadn't moved an inch.

"Morty..." Unlike her eyes, her voice seemed warm and gentle, almost as though she wasn't a drunk, abusive mother anymore. The teen swallowed down his inexplicable fear and took a deep breath.

"I-I'm... I'm home..."

"Morty, this letter... Do you know who sent it?"

He shook his head. "No. But I'm sure it's just a dumb prank. I think one of my classmates is just being a jerk."

As he answered his mom, he watched as her eyes changed from angry to suspicious to worried and scared, back to angry and then finally, relief. His eyes widened a bit in surprise. What was she so worried for?

Even if his grandpa was named Rick, there was no way the old fart was still alive.

Beth sighed, crumpling the letter up in her hands. "If you know it's a prank, then hurry up and stand up for yourself."

The heat of her words made Morty flinch inwardly. Stand up for himself? How? He was skinny, weak, and bad at socializing, let alone speaking loudly. He was the perfect target for pranks and bullies. And if his mom ever paid any real attention to him, she'd understand that.

As his mom picked up her unopened wine bottle, Morty caught his father standing up from his seat, chair scraping the floor. His hands were flat against the table, as if he couldn't stand without it's support.

The tension in the room seemed to grow thicker as Morty walked towards the staircase.

Why? Why would a measly prank letter be enough to make both of his parents tense up so bad?

Morty supposed it didn't really matter. He just needed to make sure that, if he did receive anymore letters, he would need to be the first to find them.

 **November 28th.**

Morty tapped his fingers on his desk impatiently. Everyday, the mail arrived around 5pm. For the past week, he had made sure to be home when the mailman came, just so he could check for the prank letter. But it didn't arrive.

He was somewhat glad. But at the same time, he was worried that, once he let his guard down, a letter would arrive and he would have missed it.

The alarm clock at the corner of his desk clicked away as the time display changed from 4:57pm to 4:58pm.

God, _what was he doing?_

It was a Saturday.

And here he was. Sitting at his desk. Staring at the clock. Waiting for a stupid fucking prank note. He wasn't enjoying his day at all!

Anger suddenly welled up inside of him and he slammed his fists onto his desk, letting out a long wail.

Whoever was sending these letters obviously didn't know what was going on in the Smith household. They didn't know what Morty had to deal with. They didn't know what it was like to have a mother who constantly abused him and his sister. They didn't know what it was like for him, living without a caring parent. He briefly wondered why such a small letter was causing him such turmoil.

He didn't want to think on it too hard, so he just blamed it on his mom. His mom seemed worried about the letter.

But...

He knew in his heart that he was really just missing this relative he never knew. He was giving love to someone he didn't even know. He was just giving and giving and giving. Giving a relative part of himself, just so he could pretend that he was actually loved by somebody. Because he knew that neither of his parents loved him. At least, not anymore. Not enough to do something about their situation.

If his grandma was still alive, would she be doing something?

With a small amount of tears flowing down his cheeks, he realized that _none of this would have happened if she was still alive._

Suddenly, Morty heard a quiet knock from the other side of his door. He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat.

"What is it?" he asked, surprised that he hadn't stuttered and that his voice hadn't cracked.

"I made some hot chocolate and added that caramel you like into it." His door creaked open a bit as Summer stepped inside. She placed a mug of the sweet liquid on his desk and then sat on his bed.

"O-oh. Thanks." He blinked a couple times, eyeing his sister up and down. She was dressed in a pair of her tightest skinny jeans, and a purple, low-cut crop top she had found at a thrift store the other day. The words on the shirt read 'come at me' but the letters had faded out, making it look more like 'me a me.' She had on just a touch of makeup, and had painted her finger nails and toe nails a dark orange to match her flip flops. She looked, well, nice. But Morty knew the only thing she ever dressed up for was a party. Which meant she was leaving soon.

She tilted her head to the side, catching his eye. "I, uh... I heard you yell a little earlier. And I head you hitting something. Are your hands okay?"

Morty could feel the tightness in his throat as he let out a hoarse, "Yeah."

They both fell silent. Summer fiddled with one of her finger nails, almost picking at it. Knowing how much her appearance mattered to her, Morty stood up and reached for her wrists, gently moving her hands away.

"You'll ruin your nail polish if you pick at it." The boy gave her a small smile before sitting back at his desk.

"Oh, wow. Thanks, Morty. I'm leaving for a party soon, so that would have been a pain in the ass to have to repaint."

"I know."

"So, how do I look?" His sister stood up and did a little twirl, causing Morty to rolled his eyes.

"You look pretty, Summer. You always make sure you look party ready before you're even out of the bathroom."

Summer grinned. "Thanks, Morty." She ruffled Morty's hair as she said goodbye and then proceeded downstairs. Once he heard the front door slam shut, the boy glanced at his clock again.

5:18pm.

Well, if a new letter had come, someone else would have picked it up by now. Morty decided to just deal with it later. He eagerly grabbed the cup of cocoa his sister had made and blew on it's contents. It was still too hot for him to drink. He reached his hand out to set the cup back on his desk when he noticed a white thing his drink had bee resting on before. At first glance, he had assumed it was a cloth but now he could tell that it was really another letter.

He set his cup down beside the letter and tore it open.

It was the same as the ones before. Morty cursed under his breath. Of course it was. He crumpled the paper up into a ball and threw it towards his bed. The paper smacked against the wall beside his bed and bounced back towards him and onto the floor. Sighing, he picked it up and smoothed it out. As he was smoothing it out, he noticed that the words were different on the page he was looking at. Morty flipped the paper back over. There, on the front page, was the same note he had gotten for the past month. But on the backside, there was another note.

"In the kitchen, there's a cupboard with pots and sauce pans. Inside the cupboard, look on the right side and you'll see a child safety sticker. Peel it off."

Morty felt his stomach get knotted up. He felt so uneasy. Why would a classmate go through this?

He hurried downstairs and was thankful to find no one on his journey to the kitchen. As the letter told him, he found the cupboard with the pots and pans and peeled off the child safety sticker. Underneath the sticker was a thin piece of paper, sticky from being stuck to tape for at least a couple years.

His head was racing. Someone had been inside the house. Someone had planted this piece of paper. The knot in his stomach seemed to grow tighter. With sweaty hands, he pushed the child safety sticker back onto the side of the cabinet.

Okay. _Okay_. This was really happening.

He quietly shut the cabinet and rose to his feet. The kitchen was still empty and Morty felt himself let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With the coast clear, he nervously opened up the next note with shaking hands.

" _Don't panic, Morty. I've been in the house before but it was years and years and years ago. These notes, by the time you read them, will have been here for over 20 years. Now, go to the garage. Behind the work bench, under the outlet. There are three dead ants. This next part needs to be exact, Morty. You need to be facing the wall that the ants are in front of. Put the one with six legs on the left with its legs in the air and its head to the right. The one with two legs goes to the right of the first, head to the left, on its legs. The one with four legs and no head go to the left of the first one, legs up, nonexistent head going towards the left._ "

The teen stared at the note for a moment before going towards the garage. He slowly opened the door, clenching the note tightly in his hand. The garage hadn't been used often and it was fairly dusty. Straight across from him, on the other side of the room, sat a work bench. To the left of the bench was a table Morty assumed was for sawing or something. On the right, there were cabinets where his father kept various knickknacks he found so Beth wouldn't throw them out. Morty inhaled deeply, shutting the door behind him. Okay. With a ball of panic resting in the pit of his stomach, he crawled over to the work bench. A little to the left of the middle of the bench, he spots an outlet and, below the outle, are three ants. One had six legs, another four legs, and the last one had six legs and no head.

Wow.

The ants were there. Which means this Rick guy knew that no one ever cleaned the garage but that they also never left the garage door open for other animals to get in. This Rick person knew that these ants would remain here for years and years. Just for a time like this. Just for him. _Just for Morty._

He took a deep breath.

"A-aw, jeez." Looking over the note again, Morty sat on his knees, facing the wall. He carefully placed the ants in the right order and watched them in anticipation. What was gonna happen?

To his surprise and shock, the ants began to glow a bright blue. A rather unmanly squeak passed his lips as the ants suddenly burn to a crisp. The blue light had turned into a tiny flame in the instant it had appeared. Not wanting to get burned, the teen backs away.

What the fuck was that? _Magic?_

Morty placed a hand over his heart. He could feel his heart racing a mile a minute. His pits were soaked and Morty was certain that, if anything else were to go up in flames, he would piss his pants. After calming himself down, Morty took a moment to look around him. The ants were now just a sizzling mess. But they hadn't seemed to do anything else except burn.

Morty frowned. Had he put the ants in the wrong order? He pulled out the note and read it again. "N-no way. I did it right." Getting to his feet, he looked around the garage. The ceiling was the same. The work bench was still there. None of the cabinets looked different. His shoulders slumped.

Was this really just some elaborate prank?

Feeling dejected, Morty trudged towards the door that led into the house. He reached for the handle and chuckled darkly. _This was all just some stupid prank by some dumbass, no good, fucking piece of shit—_

Morty paused in his inward ranting as something shiny by the door caught his eye. Kneeling down, he noticed a tiny little hatch had been placed by the door. Opening it, he found a shiny switch and another note.

" _Okay, now I need you to flip the switch twice to the left. Make sure you're facing the wall that has the door leading into the house."_

His eyes suddenly felt watery. Morty could feel his throat and chest tightening. C'mon, Morty. No more crying. Just follow the damn instructions, he told himself.

He reached a shaky hand towards the switch before realizing that he wasn't facing the correct way. After adjusting his position, Morty leaned down and flipped the switch to the right twice.

Nothing happened.

Morty cocked his head and looked around. Didn't he do it right? He looked at the note again and bit his lip.

"Shit..." He hurriedly flopped the switch to the left twice and prayed that he hadn't fucked the whole whatever-this-is up.

The second he flipped the switch to the left the second time, a piece of paper fell in front of his face. With surprisingly fast coordination, Morty caught the paper and unfolded it, frowning at the words.

" _I said to the LEFT, Morty. If you got it wrong, I'll know. Now go back to the ants' fried bodies and step on their remains."_

After crouching for a few minutes, Morty's knees don't move as quickly as he wanted them to and he ended up falling to the floor in his attempt to stand. Cursing quietly to himself, he pushed himself back up and is able to make it to his feet.

"Time to step on some _fucking ants_." His voice shakes a bit. What if he steps on them and that just makes the fire come back? He was a wuss. He didn't want to get burnt.

But...

He had come this far. No point in giving up now.

With his fear shoved into the back of his mind, Morty slammed his foot down onto the ant's charred corpses. A moment later, he began hearing a whirring from behind him. Turning around, he watched as his dad's old gum ball machine, covered with dust and creaky with neglect, twisted on it's own and dispensed a small plastic capsule.

 **To be continued...**

 **Hopefully two times is the charm.**


End file.
